


The Fundamental Things

by TrouserFreeTuesday



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Fluff, short and sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-06-01 19:27:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6533401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrouserFreeTuesday/pseuds/TrouserFreeTuesday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maker help her, she’s a soft touch. She’d planned on coming in and dragging him home but, Andraste, Anders seems convinced that if he leaves for more than three hours the whole clinic is going to burn down. This clinic, the patients, mean a lot to him. Anything to do some good in this world. It’d be better if he wasn’t so convinced he was bad. Marian steps up on her tip toes to press a quick kiss to Anders forehead.</p><p>“Okay. How about this: I’ll stay and watch the clinic tonight, you go rest. Or sleep here. Sleep anywhere, actually. So long as you rest.”</p><p>-- <br/>Even if Anders is rarely at home, Marian can usually track him down and bring him back. Quick, shameless fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fundamental Things

Anders is not a difficult man to track down.

Which, Marian figures, is _hilarious_ given that he’s been on the run for most of his life. It’s a process of elimination, really. If he’s not in bed with Marian, and not at the Hanged Man with Varric, he’s probably at his clinic in Darktown. The trek down to Darktown is now, thankfully, just a quick trip though the cellar. That first year in Kirkwall she’d gotten twisted and turned around in the dark alleys far more times than she’d ever admit. Now she’s built herself enough of a reputation most people stay out of her way if she tries to take the long route to Anders clinic. This rarely happens, since Darktown smells like death itself.

The lantern outside of Anders’s clinic is lit, the door cracked open. Marian’s been telling him for years he should lock it at night. Neighborhoods like this attract all kinds of danger. Clearly Anders didn’t listen. The door scrapes against the dirt floor as Marian pushes it open. Anders has his back to the door, kneeling beside one of the cots. The clinic isn’t too busy tonight; a man lies back on a cot with his hands wrapped over a bandage on his chest, there’s another in the midst of a coughing fit, and the woman Anders is attending too. Anders doesn’t turn at the sound of the door. It looks as if he’s wrapping a bandage round the womans leg, and though he speaks softly Marian can pick up on the hushed reassurances. Anders has impeccable bedside manner. In her first year in Kirkwall, she’d spent far too much time injured on one of these cots. Most of the time, it was over something inane. Fractured wrist, minor stab wounds, the usual injuries you incur traipsing around Darktown and Lowtown. Every now and again, however, something serious would happen. A bandit would get the jump on her, or she’d challenge the wrong guy to a fight at the Hanged Man. Then she’d be dragged in by Varric, or Aveline. Once, it had been Merril. For such a small woman, Merril has astoundingly strong arms. And a wonderfully soothing voice when you’ve nearly cracked your skull open. Point being she has a lot of first hand experience with Anders bedside manner. When she was lucid enough, she’d crack jokes. He always frowned over her, his brow creasing and lips pursing, and something about it grated at her. Like he was _worried_. Sometimes, she’d make him smile. She’s still proud of that. It never lasted for long, a brief upturn of his lips, before he went back to fussing over her. When she wasn’t lucid, or was too tired to joke, she’d still try and focus on him. How gentle his hands were, how warm the soft glow of his magic was. The worry that flickered behind his eyes. Anything other than the insistent, shrill, pain of stab wounds and concussions. Sometimes she’d fall asleep. No one was willing to haul her all the way to Gamlen’s, and those nights she’d wake up with dawn peeking through the holes in the clinic’s walls and the sounds of Anders shuffling around the clinic. Sometimes, on those nights, right as she was about asleep, she could swear she felt someone’s hand smoothing out her hair. She’d never brought it up in the mornings.

She still catches him doing it sometimes. When he can’t sleep, or stumbles in exhausted a long night from the clinic. Now his hands linger, fingertips pausing along her hairline. If she chooses to crack open her eyes, Anders stares at her like she is something more than she is. Something _precious_ , and _cherished_. It’s as overwhelming for Marian as it is for Anders.

Marian crosses the clinic floor as Anders starts to rise. Gently, she rests her palm against his shoulder. “Figured I would find you here. Is everything all right?”

Anders smiles at Marian. It’s weaker than it normally is. Tired. “Better now, love. You didn’t have to come all the way to Darktown just to find me.”

“It was this or losing at Wicked Grace again. Believe it or not, I’m actually _less_ likely to lose my pants here.”

Anders laughs. “A pity.”

The woman groans. “Maker’s breath, I just wanted this damn dog bite cleared up, not to watch you two lovebirds.”

“If you’ll just give me a moment?” Anders squeezes Marian’s arm before turning back to the woman. She gets instructions on how to clean the wound, and to come back tomorrow evening to change the bandage. “It was too deep for me to completely heal it, so I apologize for the lingering pain. It should heal well, but I suggest you try and stay off of it as much as you can.” The woman thanks Anders, and then he leads Marian towards the back room. She’d had to stop herself from comparing it to a closet the first time she’d gone back. Gone back officially, that is. Before that she’d snuck in with Isabela.

Anders pulls the curtain shut after him. Marian reaches for him, framing his face with her hands. Stubble scratches against her palms, a reminder of how long it’s been since Anders has been home for long. Lately it seems like he’s in and out, stopping by to sleep for a few hours before leaving again. At Marian’s touch, Anders eyes close.

“Anders.” She strokes his cheek with her thumb, and he sighs. “You’ve barely been home in weeks.You need to rest.”

Anders takes her hands in his and squeezes them softly. “I know, love, I know. It’s just - they need me here.”

Maker help her, she’s a soft touch. She’d planned on coming in and dragging him home but, Andraste, Anders seems convinced that if he leaves for more than three hours the whole clinic is going to burn down. This clinic, the patients, mean a lot to him. Anything to do some good in this world. It’d be better if he wasn’t so convinced he was bad. Marian steps up on her tip toes to press a quick kiss to Anders forehead.

“Okay. How about this: I’ll stay and watch the clinic tonight, you go rest. Or sleep here. Sleep _anywhere_ , actually. So long as you rest.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You don’t need too. I’m more than willing to help. I’ve helped you here enough before, I won’t burn the place down if left unsupervised for a few hours.” The shack on the coast she burned down is not mentioned. “Please, Anders.”

He hums, unsure. It at least looks like he’s considering the idea.

Marian kisses him then. Pulling him forward so they’re pressed against each other, and her hands tangle in his hair. Just when his hands reach for hips, she pulls back. “You can sleep here,” she offers. “That way if something happens you’re nearby.” When she kisses him again it’s quick, chaste. “Love, please. Let me help you.”

Praise Andraste, Anders concedes. He curls up under the cots threadbare blanket, and Marian sits on the edge of the bed until his breathing slows. The rest of the night is, largely, uneventful. With no healing magic of her own, she’s left to stitch up a man who cut his arm on a glass bottle outside of the Hanged Man. But that’s about as exciting as the night gets. There’s only so much that needs cleaning. The floors, after all, are dirt, so there’s no sweeping to be done, and their medical supplies are always sparse. She makes a note to pick up more elfroot the next time she leaves the city.

Dawn starts to peak it’s way through the holes in the walls. Small slivers of golden light, hurting Marian’s weary eyes and rousing those who stayed the night. There’s bread, slightly stale, for them. Marian’s never sure who brings it, but Anders clinic has been getting donations of food recently. A well-appreciated gesture, to be sure. Bandages are checked, salves are handed out, and Marian sends everyone on their way. Once the clinic is cleared out, Marian returns to the back room. Against all odds, Anders is still asleep. Poets at the Hanged Man sometimes talk about how peaceful their lovers look in their sleep (often with phrases like “halo hair”), but Marian can never tell if that applies to Anders. Today, his brow is still furrowed, and a frown tugs at his lips. His expression relaxes as she brushes a stray hair off his face, but only incrementally. Marian nudges Anders awake, and he grumbles as he stirs.

“Marian,” he mumbles, “is everything alright?”

“Well.” Marian shrugs. “There _was_ a small fire, but it only burned down the one wall.” Anders frowns at this, too tired to notice the way Marian is trying and failing to stop herself from smiling. “Anders, I’m kidding. Now come on, how does a hot breakfast sound?”

“Too good to be true.”

Orana, bless her heart, makes a truly wonderful breakfast of eggs and sausage that Anders devours several helpings off. Marian just has one, taking small bites in between yawns. Not that she’s a stranger to being awake all night. Typically, however, her all nights are more full of adrenaline. While they eat, Bodhain draws a hot bath for Anders. Maker knows he needs it. Marian joins him, scrubbing the blood from her nailbeds,and relaxing in the hot water.

“Any plans for your day?” Anders asks.

“Beyond sleeping? Nothing much.” Marian rises, toweling off before kneeling down next to the tub. She swirls her finger lazily in the hot water before splashing some up at Anders. He huffs, laughs. His laughter, when she hears it, is a wonderful sound and Marian smiles. Leaning forward, she kisses his cheek. “You should join me.”

To Marian’s surprise, he agrees almost instantly. Not even a “I should but-”. No convincing needed, just a warm smile and a “that would be perfect.” Marian could sing.

Mercifully for everyone else, she refrains.

Marian returns to her room to find the curtains already drawn closed and a warm fire flickering in the fireplace. She’ll have to do something nice for Bodhain soon, she figures. Somehow he always knows just what needs to be done. The man has a gift. Anders lies on his back on the bed and he pulls Marian against his side. His fingers trace shapes on her arm. The covers are cool against her bare skin, and she wraps her legs around Anders. With a contented sigh, Anders tightens his grip and presses his lips against the crown of her head. “Thank you. For last night.”

“You’re welcome, love.” Lying against his chest like this, Marian can hear his heartbeat. Firm, and steady. Marian allows her eyes to drift closed, and shifts to press her face into the crook of his neck. “Thank you, for staying.”

Anders doesn’t respond, but somehow she can tell he’s smiling. He rests his chin on top of her head, and starts to hum. It’s an old Fereldan song, something Marian knows the tune of but not the words. Then, just when she’s on the cusp of sleep, she feels his fingertips brushing through her hair, lingering at the hairline.

“’Ove you,” she murmurs.

“I love you too.”

Later, Anders will get back up and go back to the clinic. And Marian may have to bring him stew to keep him from starving, but they’re together. Marian has lost a lot in the past few years - her home, Carver, Bethany is gone to the Wardens, and now her mother. This, lying with Anders while he hums absent melodies, and even luring Anders to bed after long nights hunched for the desk in the study, she’ll be damned if she lets that go.

**Author's Note:**

> There is not nearly enough happy Anders content and it's going to drive me up a wall. So I'll just start churning them out. LET HIM BE HAPPY DAMN IT.


End file.
